


in flame and clover

by gabriphales



Series: gomens drabble hell [54]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24883975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: crowley wakes up without aziraphale. the bookshop fire comes to mind before he can stop it
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: gomens drabble hell [54]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664713
Kudos: 43





	in flame and clover

**Author's Note:**

> happy early anniversary to my partner !!

it's cold in bed. crowley hates waking up cold.

his shoulders lock, legs squeezing together, brought tight to his chest with the first mumble of breeze he encounters. they'd left the window open last night. said something about night air and good health. now, with crowley shivering under the thin bedcovers, too drowsy to recall any wits he might have ever possessed, that window is a dreadful customer that's overstayed its welcome. he rolls on his side, reaches out to jostle aziraphale's shoulder, tell _him_ to take care of it.

his hand hits an empty pillow. the mattress is cool on that side of the bed. it carries none of the residual warmth aziraphale's body should have left behind.

crowley starts to panic.

if there were things to be said of a demon's rationality, most of them would have been good. after all, they're often characterized as cunning, willful, _ruefully_ intelligent for all their wicked ways. in this scenario, to his misfortune, crowley's brain is as blurry and dusted over as his vision. like the fogged inside of a car window in winter, with no warm breath to heat it clear.

which is why, instead of leaving their bedroom to peer around the house in search of his lover, he calls out for him - "angel? you there?"

and why, when he doesn't get a response, he panics even _more._

"angel," he whines. "'m awake. where are you?"

the quiet that follows is a burning weight in crowley's stomach, sinking down until the only thing with any hope of coming back up is nausea. he sits up, starting to scratch at his bare arms. creeping skin under his nails, and _clawing._ clawing until it genuinely hurts.

" _angel,_ " the sobs finally rise, a ceremony to precipitate his tears. "where've you gone? i can't - i don't want to be alone."

and his flesh feels hot, he can still smell sulphur that isn't really there. can taste it on his tongue, sharp water in his mouth. his throat goes dry, it's scratchy, and he tries to reason with himself - it's only doing that because he's crying. there's no fire here. he's safe, his angel is safe. but he can't. hunched over in his bed, swallowing embers and the urge to vomit, he's weaker than he has any right to be. and it's shameful. he should be ashamed, he _is_ ashamed.

but then there's arms around him. sweet and soft, big enough to engulf him in safety. to cover the frame that seems so much smaller when he can't stop shaking. aziraphale's hands stroke at his back, aziraphale's mouth is at his ear, whispering comforts. and he's so close, so tender with crowley, it's impossible to think he doesn't deserve it.

"i'm here, love." he promises. 'i'd never leave you. never again."

crowley sucks in a sore inhale, nodding quietly. he clings onto aziraphale as quick as his body allows it, fingers melding with the tender flesh of him. aziraphale lays him down gently, following suit without giving crowley any time to complain. and held tight to his chest, breathing nothing but faint cologne, and a scent too familiar to him - a scent older than time - crowley finds the love just as palpable as aziraphale senses it.


End file.
